Now You Know
by thebeautifulbadass
Summary: After Liz nearly dies at the hands of the Deer Hunter, she's surprised to find Samar knocking on her door. Disclaimer: I own nothing.


Liz took a scalding shower as soon as she got back to her motel room in an attempt to relax her muscles, to burn and scrub away the layer of memories enveloping her. A shower that lasted longer than usual because she spent several minutes shaking against the cold tile, sobbing out her lingering fear. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel herself dangling helplessly, could see the Deer Hunter's deranged face.

She remembered how easily she could have killed the woman – _how easily the woman could have killed her_ – if Ressler and Samar hadn't shown up. In the moment, she had wanted nothing more than for that evil woman to die. She had wanted to continue clenching her thigh muscles tighter and tighter around that killer's neck until she took her last miserable breath. And _that_ scared Liz more than her near-death experience. She was turning into a monster. Maybe she'd _always_ been a monster.

She threw on a t-shirt and sleep-shorts and sat down on the edge of her bed, staring vacantly in front of her. Her hair was soaking wet, bleeding dark patches onto the shoulders of her shirt, but she was too distracted to think about toweling some of the water away.

A sudden, vigorous knocking at her door shattered the silence, and Liz inhaled sharply as fear lurched into her throat. Within a few short seconds she came to her senses, her heart rate beginning to slow. She sighed – she was jumpier than she'd have liked to admit.

Liz padded to the door apprehensively and stood on her tiptoes to look through the peephole, her brow furrowing in confusion as she recognized the figure outside her door.

She had expected it to be Reddington. It was always Reddington.

But this time it was Samar.

Liz pulled open the door, surprise still etched across her features as she looked into Samar's dark eyes. Eyes that were a little more panicked, a little less stoic than usual.

Liz's brow creased deeper in concern. "Samar? What are you doing here? What's wrong?"

Samar stared at Liz for a few seconds, her expression unchanging. When she answered, her voice was strong. Unwavering. Not in keeping with the palpable turmoil emanating from the cracks in her usual mask of detachment.

"I've lost too many people. I can't lose you too."

Before Liz could form a response, before she could even fully grasp the meaning behind the words, Samar strode purposefully across the threshold and Liz suddenly found herself unable to breathe, Samar's lips covering her own, Samar's fingers gripping her face frantically.

It took Liz several seconds to process what was happening, but once she did, she registered the fear, the desperation, the urgency pouring out of the woman who was kissing her like she was oxygen. Like she was fundamentally necessary to sustain Samar's life.

Maybe she _was_.

Liz's heart pounded, her chest swelling with adoration at this obvious acknowledgement of the feelings that Samar had kept hidden until now. Her mind emptied itself of all thought, her only focus the aching of her nervous heart and the sensation of Samar's soft, full lips against her own.

So she kissed her back.

Liz hooked her arms around Samar's back, clutching at her shoulders the way Samar was clutching at her face, pulling her closer until she could feel the taller woman's heart beating against her.

Samar's tongue barely brushed against her lower lip and Liz responded immediately, parting her lips eagerly without a second thought. She would happily let those skilled lips and tongue do anything they wanted at this point.

As Samar deepened the kiss, she left one hand gently along Liz's jawline and moved the other back to lace through Liz's hair, cupping the back of her head. Liz clung to Samar's shoulders even tighter, wanting her impossibly closer, before lightly drifting one hand down her spine and resting it firmly in the curve of her lower back.

Liz didn't ever want to stop kissing this woman. She didn't want to face reality, to talk about what had just happened – she wanted to make it _keep happening_. But all too soon they were forced to break apart, both of them panting.

Samar pulled back farther than necessary, her hands sliding down to rest on Liz's arms. Liz reluctantly loosened the circle of her embrace, but she refused to let go completely, her hands gripping Samar's sides, rising and falling along with the fluttering of Samar's gasping breaths.

Liz bit her bottom lip anxiously. Bewildered, awed emotion strained her features as she stared into the tumultuous chaos in Samar's eyes.

Samar looked absolutely terrified. Liz had seen her tied up and beaten, outnumbered and shot at, bleeding and facing her death. But at none of those times did Samar look as genuinely haunted as she did now. At none of those times did Samar look like she wanted to run away, to escape, as badly as she did in this very moment.

And Liz couldn't let that happen.

She closed the small gap between them, wrapping her arms more securely around Samar's back, burying her face in the nook between Samar's neck and shoulder, placing a soft kiss on the warm skin there.

At the feel of Liz's lips on her skin, at this precious, beautiful woman's gesture of reassurance and affection, Samar couldn't hold back her tears any longer. She wrapped one arm tightly around Liz's shoulders, the other arm cradling her head, pulling her even closer.

Samar sloppily tangled her long, slender fingers in Liz's hair, never wanting to let go. She felt like her fingers belonged there, delicately brushing through the strands of Liz's dripping, post-shower hair. Domestic.

She dipped her head, tentatively kissing Liz's temple, her hot tears mingling with the shower water. She burrowed her nose into Liz's hair, breathing in the safe, clean smell of her shampoo.

Liz could feel Samar's thin body trembling in her arms, so she held on even tighter, turning her head further into Samar's neck and placing a lingering kiss just above her collarbone.

Witnessing Samar cry wasn't something Liz had ever anticipated. She wouldn't have been able to imagine it if she had been asked to. She may have even snorted at the idea of this powerful, fearless woman crying. But now she knew that she was seeing Samar, _really seeing her_ , for the first time.

A scared, broken woman who had loved and lost far too many times.

"Samar?" she mumbled, her lips still pressed against her collarbone. "Samar, it's okay. I'm here. I'm alright."

Samar shuddered against her, muscles relaxing slightly as her silent sobs began to gradually subside. She breathed out a shaky sigh, and Liz could feel the air blowing across the damp wisps of hair on the crown of her head.

Liz pulled back and looked up at Samar's face, more open, more vulnerable than she had ever seen it. "I'm alright," she repeated with certainty.

Samar's lips tightened into a tense line before she spoke, her eyes still a panicky mess of emotion. "What were you thinking, following that woman, that psychotic killer, by yourself, Liz? Swear you'll never do something that senseless ever again. I can't—" Despite her firm tone, Samar's voice splintered and she stopped abruptly, visibly swallowing.

Ordinarily someone talking to her the way Samar just had would make Liz defensive, angry. Make her feel like a misunderstood child being scolded, a child being treated as if she were stupid.

But not now. Not with Samar. This was different somehow.

She held Samar's gaze and took an unsteady breath before replying, before trying to explain.

"I don't know, I'm sorry. Sometimes I get too caught up in the job, too caught up in..." Liz trailed off, trying to find the right words. "…in making sure they don't get away with it….to worry about _myself_. It's almost like I forget that I'm in danger." She hesitated before continuing, deciding to match Samar's vulnerability. "Honestly? Sometimes I think I don't _care_ if I'm in danger, Samar. I really don't."

Samar's reaction to Liz's words was immediate. Dread, radiating from every pore. Her eyes widened in wild alarm, and she frantically shook her head back and forth in short, hurried movements.

Liz could tell from her frenzied expression that Samar was about to speak, so she swiftly opened her mouth to convey her assurance, her _promise_. "I'll try to be more careful, I swear." The look of distress on Samar's face didn't change. "I _will_ ," she insisted. Samar's eyes were still swimming. Liz could see her own quivering reflection in the hazy gleam.

When Samar responded, her voice was soft, certain, but rough at the edges. "You're worth worrying about, Elizabeth. You're worth _everything_."

Liz's brow creased with emotion, with comprehension, her eyes stinging. "Samar, I… I had no idea. I—"

"Well, now you do," Samar's deep, rumbling voice cut her off, sending an aching pang of understanding through Liz's chest: _Samar always lost the people she loved. She was too afraid – she couldn't say the words._

But Liz could feel those unspoken words in Samar's _other_ words. In the tender way she stroked her hair. In her reverent touch. In her fiercely unrelenting kiss.


End file.
